Then an old gay named Shuster became attracted to him, and Doug was hungry enough to become the old fairy's boy toy. The old man's touch disgusted Doug, but Shuster was a world-class grifter and con man, and he'd taught Doug a lot. He'd cleaned Doug up, taught him to dress well, and given him manners and polish. After four years, the AIDS had caught up with the old man, and Shuster actually thought Doug would stay and care for him. Doug had just laughed as he cleaned out the apartment they shared and left the old fool crying in his bed.
Shuster had taught him to move in educated circles, but the most important lesson the old man taught him was that you could convince people of most anything if you once convinced them their problems weren't their own fault. Give them a scapegoat, and people would love you. Since Doug sincerely believed they existed, he was eloquent and successful.
Doug's mistake was to start using EarthGov as the scapegoat. The authorities soon got word, and the cops grabbed him. That fairy judge had called him a "habitual criminal" and kicked him off the whole damned planet!
He'd been working his way up the pecking order in Dorm 18. He had to take it slowly. He was, frankly, terrified of Paco Benitez, Jake Reilly's Flip bodyguard. He had worked his way up to crew chief when suddenly Reilly and Benitez disappeared, along with four of Reilly's top men. The rumor was that the Captain had just killed them!
After that, Doug really kept his head down. Actually, he'd been pleased. It seemed the Captain was taking out all the top tough guys. By the time they grounded, Doug had been certain he would be a top tough guy! Plenty of time to make his play after they grounded. He hooked up with Terry Magruder, the guy who snagged Dorm 18's Bingo and card concession, and played it close and quiet.
But now that fool of a Captain had crashed the goddam ship, and Doug was going to die in his own goddam bunk.
Tears of frustration and anger rose, and he screamed with the unfairness of it all! The crash might have been his big chance! If Magruder didn't make it, Doug would end up with the concession The surviving colonists would be in shock. The Dorm Council would have to reorganize, since there would be no more dorms, and some of the members wouldn't survive the crash. A sympathetic smile and a little phony compassion would let him glad-hand his way onto the Governing Council. Once there, he would just keep telling people nothing was their fault, it was always someone else grabbing what was rightfully theirs.
No! He wouldn't die like this! He finally had his big chance, and he wouldn't let them kill him in his own bunk! He began shouting for help, but he had no idea whether there was anyone alive to hear him.
Wait. Was that a scrabbling sound? Doug shouted even louder, and the scrabbling, scraping sounds got louder. There was someone out there!
"There's one over here," he heard a muffled voice shout. "Get a pry bar."
There was more scrabbling, then a thud, and a sliver of light pierced the darkness. "It's okay, Messer," came a reassuring voice. "We're here. We'll get you out. Are you injured?"
Doug hadn't even thought about that. He felt around in the darkness for the wetness of blood, and searched for pain. No. Nothing. Hope soared. He was going to get out of this! He'd show them! "No!" he shouted. "I'm okay!"
More thunks, and suddenly he could see hands and parts of legs. "Okay, messer," said the voice. "I need you to unhook your safety belts. We're going to lift the bunks off you. As soon as you can, squeeze out. I'm not sure how long we'll be able to hold it."
Doug fumbled for the belt releases, sighing with relief when they snapped apart easily. The wedge of light grew wider, accompanied by the grunts of several men. Finally, Doug was able to slide sideways out of the bunk. He just lay on the floor, gasping, while the men again lowered the bunk stack. Suddenly Doug realized he was lying in something sticky, just as a man in a medical mask grabbed his arm and lifted him to his feet. The mask made Doug aware of the horrible odor of urine and feces and the metallic smell of blood.
"Sure you're okay, messer?" At Doug's nod he continued. "Great. Head for the dorm hatch. There'll be someone there to get your name and help you get downstairs." The man turned to another. "That's twenty-four, with eight seriously injured. I think that's about it for this dorm."
Doug's eyes widened. Twenty-four? There had been over 170 in the dorm!
As he made his way toward the hatch, Doug could see the extent of the damage. The ceiling had been pushed downward, mashing the bunks together. In two places, Doug had to detour around places where the ceiling had pushed almost to the deck, only a few inches of flattened metal between them. The floor was literally covered with the blood of the crushed residents of the dorm. As he approached the hatch, he counted forty-three shrouded bodies laid neatly in a row.
"Another lucky one!" a man in a surgical mask shouted in a welcoming tone. "Are you injured, sire? We're running short of some first aid supplies, but we have pain medications."
Doug almost smiled. The man's tone and message told him he had made it! He had beaten them again! He shook his head. "No, sire," he replied politely. "I'm all right."
The man nodded. "Then would you like to volunteer for a search party? We can use all the help we can get!"
Doug struggled to conceal his dismay. He had no intention of getting involved in such hard, dirty, disgusting work. But he put on a weak smile and said, "Of course, I…" He made his voice trail off and sagged against the bulkhead. The man jumped to grab an arm and keep him from collapsing.
"Easy, Messer," the man said. "It's just shock. But you need to get downstairs and lie down." He signaled to a nearby teenager. "Tommy take Messer, uh…"
"Ryles," Doug supplied. "Douglas Ryles."
The man nodded. "Take Messer Ryles downstairs and put him in a bunk for awhile. He'll be all right."
The boy grabbed his left arm and placed his own shoulder beneath Doug's. Doug let the kid carry some of his weight. When you're working a con, details matter. Shuster had pounded that into his head.
The fool kid almost made him fall as he "helped" Doug down the ladder, but finally Tommy turned him over to three Asian women in one of the Drone dorms. "Shock," he reported crisply. "He just needs to lie down." Then he was gone.
"But your back is covered in blood!" one of the women said. "We must clean you. Take off your shipsuit and lie face down on this bunk," she said, ushering him toward a bottom bunk against the wall. The bunk supports were bent, but there was apparently no more danger of their collapse.
Doug unzipped the shipsuit, and gingerly wriggled it off his shoulders, trying to avoid more contact with the blood soaking its back. He stepped out of it, and looked at his underwear, the back of which was solid red. Shuddering, he slid his shorts down his legs and stepped out of them.
The women seemed unfazed by his nudity. They simply helped him into the bunk. One of the women came back with a serving pan full of water, and another began using a torn sheet to wash the blood off his back. Doug sighed with contentment. This he could handle!
All too soon, though, the woman finished. She wrung out the last of the red-tinted water from her rag, and picked up his shipsuit. The entire back of the garment was stiff and red with blood from the floor of Dorm 18. The woman went through the pockets, and lay the contents on the bunk next to his head. There wasn't much. Some "ship scrip" money, a few hand-written notes, and, of course, his tablet. "We will try to find you a new shipsuit," she said. "If we cannot, we will wash this one. In the meantime, just relax. Shock can be serious." As he turned onto his back, she offered him a torn piece of sheet to wrap around his middle. Then she was gone.
Doug breathed a huge sigh of relief. He'd made it! He wasn't going to die. He was lying comfortably in a bunk while these chink women took care of him. He grinned to himself. All he needed was a bulb of beer to make things perfect.
He had work to do, though. He had to figure the angles; figure out how to take advantage of the situation. It appeared a lot of people had died. That meant a lot of the survivors would be grieving; and grieving people had the
ir guards down. He had a lot of planning to do!
******
Cesar looked from Vlad to Sun, exasperation plain on his face. "You two think you're funny. Well, I don't want to hear any complaints when I start sending both of you on errands!"
Sun bowed deeply. "Lead on, oh Dictator." His grin was wide.
Cesar sighed. "All right. Actually, I'm glad both of you are here. I need wise advice, and I need it immediately."
Before he could continue, another knock preceded the entry of six people in crew shipsuits: three white and three wearing the blue of Maintenance. But Vlad ruined the military precision of their entry.
"Susan!" he cried. He grabbed the tall blonde in the white shipsuit and actually lifted her from the floor. "I thought you were dead, with the rest of the crew!"
Susan's grin was wide, and her eyes were full of tears of joy. "Vlad! You made it! Thank God!" She clung to him
A tall, thin man in white stepped forward with a smile. "I am Doctor Koumanides. I am, was, senior Med Tech. And you, I take it, are Messer Montero, our new Commanding Officer." Standing ramrod straight, he saluted. "Sire, we are the only surviving crewmembers. The Captain ordered us to deck 8 before we crashed. The Maintenance people, of course, were already stationed on the lower decks. Are you aware that the Captain gave you command, sire?"
Cesar nodded. "I am, for what it matters. We are grounded. The distinctions between crew and colonist no longer exist."
Koumanides nodded. "I understand, sire. But you must take charge, and military authority can prevent a lot of useless arguing. You are our Commanding Officer." He turned to the others. "Doctor James you know. This," he said, waving the last white-suited figure forward, "is Doctor Jacobo, Department Head for Physics and Mathematical Sciences."
Before Cesar could reply, Vlad stepped forward. "Glad to meet you. It'll be good to see another black face occasionally." Both men wore blinding white smiles, though where Vlad was a chocolate brown, Jacobo was coal black.
"And these," Koumanides continued as though uninterrupted, "Are Power Specialist Jimenez, Life Support Specialist Cordes, and Senior Pilot Schmidt."
Cesar looked quizzical. "Pilot?" he asked.
Schmidt jerked a crisp nod. "Yes, sire. I am qualified to pilot all the aircraft aboard."
Cesar's expression turned to surprise. "I wasn't aware we had any aircraft aboard."
Schmidt nodded again in his jerky, somehow-military manner. "Oh, yes sire. We have two helicopters, two ducted-fan flitters, and three airships of different sizes. In fact, sire, I would recommend that one of our first acts be to deploy and launch either a chopper or an airship, to patrol for unknown threats."
Cesar shook his head. "If we had landed normally, I'm sure I would agree," he said. "But under the circumstances, we have too many other priorities. I'm afraid we'll have to settle for lookouts and scouts for awhile. But I would appreciate it if you would go down and check on our aircraft. On a strange planet, they will be very handy!" Schmidt threw a sketchy salute and hurried out. Cesar turned to Cordes. "Messer Cordes, the computer has reported malfunctions in the supply and food delivery systems. We have already dispatched repair personnel, but I would like you to analyze the computer's data, and see if we're missing anything. My number two priority, after medical treatment, is to get everyone fed. Nothing helps conquer panic like a hot meal." The man saluted crisply and headed for the teacher's desk.
Cesar turned back to Koumanides. "And I'm certain we need all the medical expertise we can get. I understand there are some surviving Med Techs in the med bays."
"Yes, Sir!" the Doctor replied, hurrying off.
Cesar turned to Jimenez. "The computer informs me that the Cobb Drive was producing power at the moment of the crash, and that homing signals were going out. But of course, all the microwave receivers were destroyed. We need to know whether we can receive the Cobb microwaves, or whether we have to make alcohol stills a priority. The computer reports that we have spare receivers. Would you see what you can do?"
"Yes, sire!" came the crisp reply. Jimenez hurried off.
Finally, Cesar turned to Jacobo. "I'm afraid, sire, that I have no idea where you might be most useful. Do you have any suggestions?"
The wide, bright smile didn't fade. "At the moment, sire, I could probably be most helpful working with Jimenez on the power systems. We can't accomplish much on alcohol power."
Cesar nodded. "I agree. If you would, sire?"
Jacobo saluted and hurried after Jimenez.
"And that just leaves me," said Susan, pushing free of Vlad's arms.
Cesar grinned. "You and Vlad are on leave for the next hour." He waggled a finger at Vlad. "And not a minute more! I need you both badly."
He turned to Sun. "You and I have a high-priority errand, Messer Sun." He glanced at the men working at the terminal before continuing in a softer tone. "We need to locate and open the Armory. Our outside patrols will need long-range weapons. But I see no need to reveal the location and contents of the Armory."
Sun nodded soberly. "I agree. It's never too early to consider security." The two men walked down the Deck 6 corridor toward Dorm 4. The ladder to Deck 7 was close to the dorm, so they had no trouble locating the compartment stenciled "7-243A." It was an unremarkable hatch, exactly like hundreds of others aboard the huge ship. Even the retinal-scan lock was not unusual; the locks adorned many compartments that contained hazardous or restricted contents.
Sun returned to the ladder, to make sure they hadn't been followed, while Cesar simply looked into the small sensor on the hatch. There was a small click, and the hatch swung open.
Sun hurried back in response to Cesar's frantic waves, and the two men entered the compartment, careful to close the hatch behind them.
The compartment was crammed with an amazing array of weapons ranging from what were apparently bows, though with complicated string arrangements, to honest-to-god muzzle-loading flintlock rifles and pistols, to modern cartridge-firing rifles, pistols, and shotguns to both hand- and shoulder-fired lasers, blasters, and flechetters, Besides the projectile weapons, there were a bewildering array of grenades, mines, and other destructive devices. In the back corner of the room, nearly buried in lethal hardware, was a small computer terminal; evidently the 'secure' terminal the computer had mentioned. Next to the hatch was a small screen. At present, it was showing a split image of unoccupied corridors. Cesar assumed it monitored cameras facing the corridor in each direction. No one would sneak up on the Armory.
Sun grinned. "Well, this is awkward," he said. Cesar raised an eyebrow in inquiry and he continued, "Well, I assume you want to remove some of these things, but we'll be rather conspicuous walking around with armsful of weapons."
Cesar frowned. "You're right. But I do want to limit knowledge of the location of this room to those who need to know it. Any room can be broken into, with the right tools and time."
Sun nodded. "I agree. So, I think we'd better discuss who the "approved" people will be."
"Good point," Cesar replied. "At the moment, I can think of only three people besides you that I would trust with that information. Vlad, Boyet, and Tara." He frowned. "Actually, the only one who needs access right now is Tara." He started to shrug, but caught himself. "At any rate, we've seen the place, we know where it is, and we know my access works. I think we should leave now, and I'll bring Tara down when she comes back inside.
"In the meantime, though," he continued, "I'll need you to step outside. The terminal won't accept input unless I'm alone."
Sun nodded without comment, and stepped back through the hatch. Cesar hurried to the small terminal, nearly concealed by assorted lethality.
Suddenly he realized he had no idea how to proceed. "Uh, computer?" he asked uncertainly.
"Please step forward for retinal scan," came a soft feminine voice. Cesar stepped forward and put his eye to the scanner mounted on a stalk protruding from the terminal.
"Authority accepted. Welcome, Captain. It will
be necessary to complete a retinal scan each time you desire to enter input through this terminal," the voice continued. "Awaiting input."
Cesar frowned. Computers already intimidated him, and these kinds of irritating formalities only emphasized that intimidation. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"I wish to authorize access to this compartment for certain personnel," he said finally.
"Please identify the personnel. You may identify them by name or by number."
Cesar nodded. "Sun Myung Lu, Doctor Vladimir Renko, Boyet Mamerto, and Tara Connor-Creding."
"Access granted," said the somehow wooden voice. "Retinal scans for all named personnel are on file and will be accepted for access. For security reasons, the following procedure will be required: the authorized personnel must enter the compartment alone, and request access through this terminal for anyone accompanying them."
They left the compartment and returned to Dorm 7. Without conscious decision, they returned to the Dorm 7 classroom. Robert Franks was still occupied at the Teacher's station, but the room was otherwise empty.
"You know, Cesar," said Sun, "A high-powered dictator like you needs a headquarters where he can conduct the business of state. Why not take over this classroom? It gives you access to the computer, it holds fifty people, and it's convenient. You can even have someone bring your meals from the mess room, if you wish."
Cesar looked around the room. "You may be right, Sun. But then how would Robert ever visit his girlfriend?" He smiled to take the sting from his words as Robert looked up with a shy smile.
Sun shook his head. "Not a problem. He, and the people who want to take classes, can use the classroom next door, in Dorm 8." He sobered. "But you do need somewhere private to conduct colony business."
Cesar had been uncomfortably aware that Robert Franks knew everything that had gone on since the crash. Oh, it wasn't that he didn't trust Robert, exactly. Still, he was uncomfortably aware that the little man knew, for example, that the Captain had given him complete authority over the computer. And Franks was a physical coward. Anything he knew, he could be coerced to tell.
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